The Boys' And Girls' Library Part 6

"Yes, father, I am very glad now."

"Suppose, William," Mr. Jones asked, in a serious tone, "that in the effort to save your sister, you had yourself been thrown out of the sleigh, and badly hurt, would you then have been sorry that you went with us?"

William paused for some moments, with a thoughtful countenance. He was weighing the fear of bodily pain against his love for Ellen. At last he said, with the moisture dimming his eyes,

"No! I would not have been sorry, father."

"Why not, William?"

"Because, I would only have been badly hurt; while, if I had not been along with her, sister might have been killed."

"Very true, my dear boy! And now, you remember how often I have talked to you about selfishness, and what an evil thing this selfishness is?"

"Yes, father."

"Well, this feeling of timidity, which you indulge so much, is a selfish feeling."

"Selfish, father! How can that be?"

"Because there is nothing in it of self-sacrifice for the happiness or comfort of others."

"I cannot understand you, father."

"I do not know that it will be in my power to make you understand me fully, William. But I will try. You knew, this morning, that it would give your father and mother pleasure to have you with them, and also that your cousins would be delighted to see you. But your idle fear, lest some accident should happen, made you unwilling to go. You would not risk anything for the sake of others. If the great and good General Washington, when called upon to take command of the American army, had refused to do so, because there was danger of his being killed; cannot you see that in that feeling there would have been a strong principle of selfishness?"

"Oh, yes. If he had done so, he would have been very selfish. He would have thought more of personal safety than the good of his country."

"Just so, William, will you think, when you grow up to be a man, if you do not conquer this timid feeling, which you now indulge. You must learn, for the good of others, to risk personal danger, and to be willing to bear pain of body as well as mind, if called upon to suffer while doing your duty to others. Of danger, it is not our place to think, when fully satisfied we are doing right; knowing that the Lord's providence is over all, and that He will not suffer any harm to befall us that is not really for our good. Learn, also, this harder lesson,--a willingness to encounter bodily pain, and even great danger, for the good of others."

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STORY OF A GREYHOUND.

Llewellyn, son-in-law to King John, had in his possession one of the finest greyhounds in England. His name was Gelert. One day Llewellyn, going out to hunt, called all his dogs together; but his favourite greyhound was missing, and nowhere to be found. He blew his horn as a signal of the chase, and still Gelert came not. Llewellyn was much disturbed at this, but at length pursued the chase without him.

For want of Gelert, the sport was limited; and getting tired, Llewellyn returned home at an early hour, when the first object that presented itself to him at his castle gate, was Gelert, who bounded with his usual transport to meet his master--having his lips besmeared with blood.

Llewellyn gazed with surprise at the strange appearance of his dog. But on going into the apartment where he had left his infant son asleep, he found the bedclothes all in confusion, the cover rent, and stained with blood. He called on his child, but no answer was made: from which he concluded that the dog must have devoured him, and, without waiting to reflect, or examine, plunged his sword to the hilt in Gelert's side. The n.o.ble dog fell at his feet, uttering a dying yell which awoke the infant, who was sleeping beneath a heap of mingled bedclothes; while under the bed lay a great wolf, covered with gore, which the faithful and gallant hound had destroyed.

Llewellyn, smitten with sorrow and remorse for the rash and frantic deed which had deprived him of so faithful an animal, caused an elegant marble monument, with an appropriate inscription, to be erected over the spot where Gelert was buried, to commemorate his fidelity and unhappy fate. The place, to this day, is called Beth-Gelert, or "The grave of the greyhound."

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THE TRUANT.

I received part of my education at a beautiful town on the banks of the river Trent. It was here, while a boy, that I first learned the danger of disobedience. The precept had been instilled in my mind a thousand times, and I knew it was the command of heaven that we should respect and obey our parents and teachers; but I had never felt either the danger or the criminality of a disregard of the Divine command till after the following event.

It was December; and the river, on whose beautiful banks the academy was situated, was frozen over, so that people could travel, and sport upon it in safety. It was a favourite diversion of the students, most of whom were between ten and fifteen years old, to play ball upon the ice, upon skates; and many times nearly the whole school, consisting of fifty youths, was collected in one game on the gla.s.sy surface of the frozen stream. We grew, at length, so fond of this recreation, that we began to encroach upon the hours of study. The bell rang unheeded, and when we came into school, we were, as we deserved to be, reprimanded by our good and indulgent preceptor; and many of our number, ashamed of their behaviour, refused to offend in like manner again. It was not so with us all.

One day, a part of our number having staid out upon the river more than a quarter of an hour after the bell had done ringing, one of the boys was sent for us; but we soon forgot that we had been called, and continued our game. Shortly we saw the preceptor, himself, coming down to the river. We were then alarmed; and all, but myself and Nathaniel Beecher, ran, by a round-about way, to the sh.o.r.e and to school. _We_ resolved to stay the whole afternoon. The preceptor came out upon the wharf, and called to us to come to him. Fearing that we should be taken back to school and punished, we resolved not to answer, and pretended not to hear him. After repeatedly calling us, and receiving no answer, he came upon the ice; but when he had walked a short distance from the sh.o.r.e we saw that we were in no danger of his catching us, as the ice was very smooth. At length, in an attempt to catch me, the preceptor slipped and fell heavily upon the ice. I stood still, and dared not go near, for fear he would punish me; but I was now very sorry for what we had done. Our preceptor had always been kind to us, and my feelings were hurt to think I had been so ungrateful. Meantime he had got up, and with a painful effort walked to the sh.o.r.e. I followed him, and Nat went off towards the other side of the river. As I approached the sh.o.r.e, I turned to see where he was going, continuing to skate backwards as I looked. Suddenly I found myself in the water. I had fallen into a hole which had been cut for fishing. As I dropped I threw out my arms, and thus saved myself from going under; but the current was very strong, and it was with the utmost difficulty that I could hold myself above the water. I felt as though some evil spirit beneath the water was dragging me under, and my heart sunk within me. At length I was drawn out of the water by my preceptor. He spoke kindly to me, and said he would take me home, that I might change my clothes. I was very much affected. I had prepared myself to bear my well-merited punishment; but when I heard his kind and gentle tones, and saw that he was not angry, I burst into a pa.s.sionate flood of tears, and, dropping on my knees, begged his pardon for my bad behaviour. He took me up at once, and told me never to kneel but to the Lord, that he would forgive me. We had nearly reached the sh.o.r.e, when I looked round for Nat. He was looking towards us, and skating along with his arms folded, and all at once dropped beneath the ice and disappeared. He had, while looking at us, skated into an air-hole. I involuntarily screamed, and started with all speed for the place. The preceptor followed, having guessed the cause of my exclamation.

The accident had been seen from the sh.o.r.e, and many persons came hurrying to the spot, and among them the father of the boy. He was told, on sh.o.r.e, that it was his oldest son; and rushing to the spot, and putting his head down in the hole, held it there a long time, looking, but all was in vain. The rapid tide had borne him far down the river, and his body was never more seen.

The events of this day taught me the lesson of _obedience_. It stamped upon my mind the truth, that the first great duty, next to our devotion to our Maker, is respect and obedience to those who are placed in authority over us. I never again _played truant_.

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A SUMMER MORNING RAMBLE.

Oh! the happy summer hours, With their b.u.t.terflies and flowers, And the birds among the bowers Sweetly singing; With the spices from the trees, Vines, and lilies, while the bees Come floating on the breeze, Honey bringing!

All the east was rosy red When we woke and left our bed, And to gather flowers we sped, Gay and early.

Every clover-top was wet, And the spider's silky net, With a thousand dew-drops set, Pure and pearly.

With their modest eyes of blue, Were the violets peeping through Tufts of gra.s.ses where they grew, Full of beauty, At the lamb in snowy white, O'er the meadow bounding light, And the crow just taking flight, Grave and sooty.

On our floral search intent, Still away, away we went,-- Up and down the rugged bent,-- Through the wicket,-- Where the rock with water drops,-- Through the bushes and the copse,-- Where the greenwood pathway stops In the thicket.

We heard the fountain gush, And the singing of the thrush; And we saw the squirrel's brush In the hedges, As along his back 'twas thrown, Like a glory of his own, While the sun behind it, shone Through its edges.

All the world appeared so fair, And so fresh and free the air,-- Oh! it seemed that all the care In creation Belonged to G.o.d alone; And that none beneath his throne, Need to murmur or to groan At his station.

Dear little brother Will!

He has leapt the hedge and rill,-- He has clambered up the hill, Ere the beaming Of the rising sun, to sweep With its golden rays the steep, Till he's tired and dropt asleep, Sweetly dreaming.

See, he threw aside his cap, And the roses from his lap, When his eyes were, for the nap, Slowly closing: With his sunny curls outspread, On its fragrant mossy bed, Now his precious infant head Is reposing.

He is dreaming of his play-- How he rose at break of day, And he frolicked all the way On his ramble.

And before his fancy's eye, He has still the b.u.t.terfly Mocking him, where not so high He could scramble.

In his cheek the dimples dip, And a smile is on his lip, While his tender finger-tip Seems as aiming At some wild and lovely thing That is out upon the wing, Which he longs to catch and bring Home for taming.

While he thus at rest is laid In the old oak's quiet shade, Let's cull our flowers to braid, Or unite them In bunches trim and neat, That, for every friend we meet, We may have a token sweet To delight them.

'Tis the very crowning art Of a happy, grateful heart To others to impart Of its pleasure.